In the Room Facing the Sun
by tarsido
Summary: Welcome to Crossroads Café! We offer a diverse range of food from – hold on, where are you going? Antonio wasn't expecting a customer to invade the kitchen, and is even more unprepared when the stranger demands for tomatoes. AU Spamano


**Title:** In the Room Facing the Sun

**Genre:** Romance/Humour

**Rating:** T

**Warnings: **Superbly long conversations, swearing, references to sex, story doesn't take itself seriously

**Summary: **Welcome to Crossroads Café! We offer a diverse range of food from – hold on, where are you going? Antonio wasn't expecting a customer to invade the kitchen, and is even more unprepared when the stranger demands for tomatoes. AU Spamano

**Disclaimer: **Don't own.

* * *

Antonio whistled a merry tune as he bustled around the kitchen, tucking the creamy batter for the tiramisu into a safe corner of the table where it wouldn't get toppled over by the morning rush of the café staff. He smiled and basked in the bright squares of sunlight streaming in from the windows. It was his favourite kind of day – a beautiful, cloudless sky in perfect blue, though others might disagree and curse at the lack of cover from the sweltering heat. Still, they'd come in for respite from the sun and enjoy some of his desserts, which made it a win-win situation, right?

He frowned slightly. The tiramisu was a new introduction to the desserts menu that the bosses proposed a few weeks ago, and while the reception had been great; staring into the murky depths of the batter, Antonio couldn't quash a niggling doubt about his confections. Still, he had followed the house recipe to the letter… surely it was fine? It wasn't his place to try to be clever about the recipes after all – it was a business, and he wouldn't only have to face his friends' and families' criticism if he failed.

He was leaning over to pipe a bit of white frosting on the cake pops when the door burst open, hitting the wall brutally, revealing a man standing there, his figure dramatic and… well, not very imposing, but Antonio would give him A for effort! It's the thought that counts, after all! He gaped appreciatively at the unfamiliar figure outlined dramatically against the flurry of the café outside.

Hold on.

Antonio blinked. That wasn't a staff… Unless it was a new recruit he wasn't aware of. He was well aware of his tendency to drift off when Arthur was lecturing them about something or other, but it was forgiven because everyone did that, except Alfred who was so in love with the manager that he'd listen to an alphabet recitation if it was Arthur doing it. Antonio furrowed his brows in distress. Being late on your first day is a very bad habit, but thankfully first days were far and in-between. As long as you didn't get fired, the next first day wouldn't be anywhere near.

Then again, given that furious expression, his earlier deduction that the invader was a staff might be wrong, but he didn't have much time to contemplate this as the man had caught sight of Antonio, and with every line of his body emanating potent rage, charged up the aisle to jab a finger pointblank between his eyes.

Antonio hurriedly summoned his sunniest smile and somehow managed to hold it in face of the blazing eyes and enraged face. "I'm sorry, but customers aren't allowed in the kitchen." Seeing the deep groove between the man's eyebrows deepen further, he was quick to tack on, "If you have any complaint or issue to discuss, I could call the manager for you." He mentally sniggered at the thought of sending a troublesome customer to Arthur. And it was only an hour after the start of opening hours.

Except. He considered the man again. A handsome face, with tanned, unblemished skin – no freckles dare to dot _this_ skin – long lashes sweeping over green eyes alight with anger, the clean lines of his furrowed eyebrows set off the sharp cheekbones and oh, the juxtaposition of roundness of the slightly puffed cheeks that were slowly flushing crimson…

He couldn't resist it. "Ahhh~ So cute~" He cooed. Antonio valiantly held himself back from pinching the red, red cheeks. "Just like a tomato! Tomato!"

Oops, maybe he shouldn't have said that. The already dark cheeks flushed with even more colour and the kitchen trespasser let out an unintelligible, garbled sound of rage and proceeded to rant at him. Antonio listened, fascinated. When it was his turn to wait on the customers, he often received compliments about his accent – cute girls and boys loved his accent alike! But well, he had to turn down phone numbers because as much as he'd like to keep the customers happy, he couldn't call them up to entertain them with his accent during his work hours. Proud that he managed to secure some potential long-term customers, he used to pass the scrawled phone numbers – complete with cute hearts and even a 'Call me!', wasn't that adorable? – to Vash, who wasn't _technically_ in charge of the counter, but hung around it often anyway, keeping a sharp eye on his sister, but Vash had slammed his knife down on his tables and told him in a scary voice if Antonio didn't want the numbers, he could very well throw them in the bin instead of passing them off to Vash, was he taking pity on Vash's single status? Confused, Antonio hastily assured him that wasn't the case – that knife was kind of pointing rather threateningly at his throat – and now he took the advice and discretely threw them in the bin, out of Vash's sight.

Oh. He snuck a peek at Vash's corner of the kitchen. It wasn't that he was _afraid_ of Vash but… it must be said that it was rather intimidating for any non-ninjas to be able to stash away so many knives on one's body at a time. Antonio once passed by Arthur's office, and overheard the ending snatches of a disturbing discussion between the two.

"_- No firearms or flamethrowers and that is final. Flour is highly combustible and this is a café. Half our goods are baked-"_

Needless to say, Antonio fled quickly from the scene. The faster he left, the more truthful his claims of plausible deniability were; it's not that he was _afraid._ Especially of Vash, how ludicrous was that? Antonio was just a bit wary of him, which was perfectly natural and meant he had a healthy sense of self-preservation.

He laughed nervously. Well, it seemed as if Vash was blissfully unaware of the turmoil in the kitchen, but it wouldn't last long if the cute man kept raising his voice like that. Even if that accent was a little mesmerising, he really shouldn't do that; Vash was bent low over the table top and slicing away at something with a _very_ intent look on his face.

"I'm sorry," and Antonio was very sorry to interrupt the deliciously stirring accented voice, but it was for both of their sakes that the derailment had to take place. "Are you lost?" he opted to say instead. "I could bring you back to the counter-"

"What?" The cute, straight eyebrows drew together. "Just how big do you think your miserable hole in the wall is?" The cute man demanded, in a rather un-cute manner. Antonio was starting to realise that his cute man had a bit of a potty mouth. "Of course I am not _lost_, numbskull, I know this is the kitchen, I came here with a purpose." He placed a delicate emphasis on the last word. Antonio felt his insides liquefy in sheer adoration.

"Oh." Antonio blinked. "Erm, so what are you doing here? Was the staff outside not helpful?"

The cute man snorted. "I did talk to the staff outside. I tuned out the jelly one by the fifth consecutive apology, and I was too distracted by the facial hair on the other one to pay attention to what he's saying, _oh Madonna_, has he never heard of shaving? That disgusting beard!" He glared daggers at Antonio as if it was his fault that Francis thought a five o' clock shadow was sexy. He whirled around and squinted at the health organisation's rating of the café plastered on the wall. "A? That's ridiculous. The stupid officers must be blind. Well, no matter, if I see a single HINT of stubble in my pancakes, I will throw the food at his stubbly face." The man released a breath seething with righteous anger and delivered the last devastating blow to Francis's dignity. Thankfully, Francis was spared of hearing the insults; Antonio had never been so glad of Francis's habit of flirting with the customers while serving them. "He looks like he's toting a beaver on his chin!"

"It's not quite that furry," Antonio protested. He mentally delivered sympathies to the ever-trembling Raivis, who must have been saddled with counter duty. Today just wasn't his day, but what day ever was? Such was the job as the front-liner to all customer complaints.

"Oh alright, I'd admit it's just a little less," the cute man conceded conversationally, then blinked, and like a switch marked 'Spitting Fury' was flipped, he roared, "Don't question me! The customer is always right! And stop distracting me!" He slapped a hand down on the table. Antonio leapt for the tiramisu batter. "Give me my tomatoes," the cute man commanded. "_Now._"

Antonio stared at him dumbly. "We're not a supermarket."

Was this a robbery? He'd never heard of robbers demanding for tomatoes before. As much as he loved tomatoes, they were unlikely to ever be promoted to the glamourous status of currency.

Also, weren't robbers supposed to be wearing all black, with ski masks and be all growly and _grrr, give me your money or I'll kill you and overturn your tiramisu bowl_. The cute man was wearing dark colours, it was true, but otherwise, he was dressed very stylishly. There wasn't a single ski mask in sight. And while he was angry, it reminded Antonio more of a tantrum than anything malicious. Still, that unchecked mouth was a little annoying, not to mention wounding for the ego.

"No, moron," the cute man spat out. "Where are my tomatoes? My burger has no tomatoes in them! If there are no tomatoes in them, what's the point of ordering a damned burger? It's like defeating the purpose of its existence! Like a Leaning Tower that's straight! It makes no sense for a burger to have no tomatoes," he ranted.

Antonio had a feeling that burgers didn't exist just because of the tomatoes, but if he objected, he'd probably be faced with an even more fuming customer, which was no fun. In any case, he thoroughly approved of the apparent love of tomatoes, so he let it slide. "We're out of tomatoes, I'm afraid. I'm sorry, could we-" He was cut off by an outraged gasp.

"Blasphemy," the cute man looked aghast, going as far as to cross himself momentarily. "How can you _not_ have tomatoes? It's only the start of the day!"

Antonio considered tossing off a charmingly polite remark, then shrugged. "It happens," he said easily. Arthur would probably kill him for being so careless with his service, but he thought that the situation was surreal enough to let it pass. "We could recompense you with another meal, if you please," he offered. "Our menu has a diverse range of-"

"No, I don't want anything else," the cute man cried out. His lower lip quivered. "I didn't want to order this _American fast-food_ junk in the first place, I wanted proper Italian food like back home-" he choked slightly, but continued determinedly, "But now that you don't have tomatoes this is the last straw, damn it." He pronounced _American fast-food_ like it was an explicit curse.

"Um." Antonio bit his lip, feeling his heart soften inexplicably at the teary glaze in the green eyes. He didn't know why the cute man was so upset by the lack of tomatoes, but just because Antonio didn't understand, it didn't mean that it meant anything less to the other male. He thought about hugging the other man, but it was probably too forward and his apron was smeared with questionable substances. He didn't want to stain the cute man's expensive looking clothes.

Antonio brightened. "Why don't I do a cheer-up charm for you?" He spread his arms like a bat, accidentally toppling a wooden spoon. The cute man lunged for it and surfaced from under the table, gaping at him. "Fusosososo~" He swung his arms widely. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vash turning to stare at them. The cute man had an expression stuck between horror, mortification and _is he crazy?_ _I think he's nuts._ He was still clasping the spoon.

"I don't want to know what you're doing," a familiar voice announced behind them. Antonio paused and turned. The familiar visage of all-too-thick eyebrows and a perpetually disgruntled expression, topped off with ruffled blond hair greeted him. One of the huge eyebrows was raised at him. Antonio heard a faint sound of horror from beside him. _Ah._ If he was so objectionable to Francis's facial hair, Arthur's magnificent eyebrows – and he meant it in the worst way possible! Screw the negative karma of badmouthing, every service establishment worker hated their manager – certainly wouldn't pass muster for his cute man either. Lili, Vash's younger sister and all in all better half, was standing a ways behind Arthur, looked as composed as ever, but Antonio could detect a tiny edge of distress in the big, limpid eyes. He smiled at her comfortingly.

"I heard that you were unsatisfied with the food in my café," Arthur said smoothly, not even twitching at the uncanny stares at his eyebrows rather than his eyes. Then again, he was probably used to it. "I'm very sorry that our wait staff haven't the foresight to warn you before you ordered the meal…" He started to lead the cute man away, clearly wanting to hold the discussion in his office. Antonio looked after their retreating backs, a little sorry that the cute man left. The cute man had been rather aggravating, but he had been interesting…

Then the cute man darted back and stopped in front of Antonio. Antonio looked confused. Then, a sticky wooden spoon was pressed into his hands, along with a mumble of "Sorry for being such a bitch to you and the other staff," and the cute man had retreated a few steps away into the safety of arm-length distance and was looking anywhere but at him. Antonio felt his cheeks warm slightly. _So, so adorable._

"That needs some sour cream." Antonio jerked and looked perplexedly at him.

"The tiramisu batter," the cute man clarified, with a wrinkle of his nose. He seemed to realise he was breaking character by being too nice, and retaliated by trying to strangle Antonio with his apron ties. Feeling his waist cinch in unnaturally, Antonio choked, flailed and wondered _When did he pull the recipe from the drawer?_ "The consistency isn't right. You should add sour cream to it." He snatched up the recipe again, shoved it into the drawer messily – the corner of the paper bent and stuck out of the drawer – and fled for the door. The cute man stumbled and clipped his shoulder on the swinging doors, and the last thing Antonio heard of him was his cursing as he clutched at his shoulder with a grimace.

Antonio looked down at the batter. Sour cream, eh? While it was probably foolhardy to mess around with a tried and tested recipe just on the advice of a stranger, he suddenly felt a little more lively and adventurous.

_Why not?_

* * *

"-reprimanded me," Francis said mournfully, sucking the last of the cream off his spoon in a way he knew would make him look oh so lascivious and sexy. Alas, the only audience he had was unappreciative of his efforts; mainly Antonio, who wouldn't catch a clue if it gave him a lap dance, and Gilbert, who only snickered evilly at him and proceeded to choke on his mouthful of cake. Francis felt slightly vindicated.

"It could be worse," Gilbert pointed out most unhelpfully. "He could have sent Alfred to help you with the food."

Francis shuddered. It was somewhat of a longstanding joke in the café that whenever Arthur was pissed off at someone – or at Alfred – he would send Alfred to aid the staff. It was fine for Alfred to be attached to one of the wait staff; he used to wreck havoc there until a fortu –unfortun –fortuna –unfortunate meeting with one of the regulars, one Ivan Braginsky, occurred. Afterwards, he became an exemplary server, although for days after, he avoided Ivan's table religiously, covering up with extra loud chuckles bordering on hysteria and a quick change of subject. It had been his fault anyway, everyone knew that only Raivis, Toris and Eduard could serve Ivan safely, although they protested every time and the caveat didn't save them from being terrified out of their wits.

In any case, it was somewhat taboo for Alfred to help out in the kitchen as he tended to colour the food in eye-watering fluorescent shades. The regulars always knew when Alfred was in the kitchen.

Gilbert wasn't finished implanting nightmare visions into Francis's delicate and innocent soul apparently. It clearly didn't work on Antonio, as he was still bearing that trademark silly grin on his face, but Gilbert knew when to cut his losses. "Or even better," Gilbert savoured the next killer line deliciously. He gave in and broke down into peals of diabolic laughter and had to struggle to get his next words out, "Arthur could have offered to help you _himself_!"

"Nooo!" Francis wailed, covering his face with his hands in abject horror. Gilbert cackled. Move over Germany, schadenfreude was all the awesome Prussia's.

Gilbert mashed the cake into a pulpy mess victoriously but frowned, feeling something was slightly off about the situation. In the dingy little break room – with only one miserable coffee machine! The only good thing about it was the refreshing air-conditioning, the summer heat was bearing down on them with a fury – he stood out, being only one not dressed in employee's clothing. Ah, but uniforms were the instruments of the _devil_ and stifled forms of awesomeness and creativity and shit like that. It was just as well he wasn't wearing them – he was too awesome for them anyway. Gilbert nodded to himself, reassured, and continued eating his cake. His left hand flew to the little cross dangling from his phone and fingered it anyway.

After a lot of manly giggles, snorts and sniffles, Francis finally composed himself enough to say, "I don't regret it the slightest though." He lamented, "My only regret was that he caught on so quickly, snatched the serving tray out of my hand and beat me over the head with it before I could grab more than a few seconds with my handful of that cute bum. Mmm." His eyes lidded and he looked exactly like what he was: a bearded, shady, if handsome pervert.

"Mmmm," Antonio echoed dreamily.

Gilbert sniggered. "You just manhandled his backside while he was ranting at you? No wonder he got so mad."

"He was a cutie," Francis protested. "You would have done it if you were there too. And he was staring at me _very_ pointedly when I was talking to him; how would any sane man take it? Of course I thought he was interested – who can resist this body?" He winked for good measure and imaginary roses bloomed around him. Gilbert was not impressed and wilted the poncy blossoms with a flare of his 'I'm the most awesome person in the UNIVERSE!' aura.

"I would not!" Gilbert defended himself. "I would be a lot smoother and slipped a twenty with my phone number in his waistband!"

"Mmm," Antonio agreed.

Francis gasped in outrage. "_Mon cher,_ that is not _romantique_ at all," he admonished, sneaking in a few French words despite the fact it was a purely English setting, just to make things classy. Random French words that people wildly guess the meaning at without Babelfish is _romantique_ and sexy and classy, yup.

"And grabbing his bum at the first meeting is?" challenged Gilbert.

"-_romantique_ candlelight dinners, hours-long phone calls, love letters, goodnight kisses, holding hands, walks by the beach-"

"How frightfully vanilla," sneered Gilbert.

"Mmm," Antonio put in.

There was a pause. "Antonio," Francis raised an eyebrow. "I can't help but notice that you've been agreeing to the most peculiar notions lately. And that silly smile on your face has been there since the start of lunch." He brightened. "Are you trying to cheer me up? Is that a come hither signal? Come, my darling, spread your happiness!" He sidled over to Antonio and tried to pull his shirt up to under his armpits. Damn that thick, loose chef overall.

Antonio blinked and batted at Francis as he tried to haul the overall off him. "Oh! I was just thinking about someone cute I met in the kitchen," he said happily. He frowned uncertainly past Francis's grabby hands and the layer of white overall turned inside out over his head. "Sorry, it's kind of weird talking to you like this, it's blocking my head." In response, Francis quickly yanked the overall over his head, tangling his arms together chaotically, before Antonio surfaced, hair disheveled, shirt crumpled and still bearing his oblivious, though now slightly puzzled smile. "Thanks! Phew, it was getting a little warm, ahahaha~"

Francis leered. "Anytime, my dear. Now if you could do me a favour and just slip off your shirt-"

"No," Gilbert interrupted crossly. "No hot man-on-man action without inviting me."

Francis blinked at him questioningly. "You need an invitation?"

Gilbert considered this, then decided he didn't, but as awesome as he was, he wasn't into public sex, unlike his straight-laced, deceptively kinky brother. Well, he didn't know for sure if Ludwig was an exhibitionist, but he probably was, because God knew that it was the quiet and repressed ones you had to watch out for and Ludwig would be the top of the list, winning the Guinness record for the tightest tight-ass in the world. Of course, the BDSM websites he found in his brother's web history also helped to make that decision. Gilbert wondered if his brother's boyfriend knew, and decided to alert him to it ASAP.

Meanwhile, Francis's mind suddenly latched onto a previously ignored part of Antonio's speech. "Was there a cute new delivery person?" Francis questioned eagerly. "Ah, Antonio knows the bewitchment of _l'amour_," he crooned, then suddenly grew serious. "Be careful, darling, love bites."

Antonio looked confused, then laughed and waved it off. "What? It's not a delivery person and I'm not in love, I just met him, wouldn't that be weird?" He stopped and sighed heavily. "It was a customer and I'll probably never see him again." He straightened up and tried to be optimistic, chasing away the uncharacteristic gloominess on his face. "Still, he was adorable~"

Francis gasped. "Don't be so quick to brush off love, my dear! You must have faith in the light of love that will turn cruel fate and never lead you astray! If you are meant to be, you will meet again!" he encouraged.

Gilbert snorted and polished off the last of the dessert on his plate. "Don't listen to that fruity speech," he ordered. "If you're interested in someone, go after them with the will of a raging lion! Pin them down and don't let them get away! Have no mercy!" He gulped down a glass of water and let out a satisfied burp.

Francis and Antonio stared at him open-mouthed. "Are you fighting a death match or pursuing a lover?" Francis demanded, letting go of Antonio's half-undone belt. "Pin them down? Have no mercy?" He shook his head disbelievingly, then paused to contemplate the implications. "I must say I can't approve of such courting methods, but now if you were talking about sex…"

"I don't think he'd like that though," Antonio admitted. "He's adorable, but rather willful, and I think if I was too forceful with him, he might become frightened or angry or cry."

Gilbert shrugged. "You never know, some of those types want someone to be stern with them and controlling and kinky shit like that." He wrinkled a corner of his mouth. "Just how did you meet a customer in the kitchen? I thought only staff are allowed to go in there."

"I think-"

"You're not staff and you're in the break room," Antonio pointed out.

"Hey-"

"I'm too awesome to listen to a fucking door sign," Gilbert returned arrogantly. "It needs to be a few millennia older to gain enough awesome to order me around."

"Guys-"

"It's not the sign that's commanding you," Antonio commented. "I think it was Arthur who put it up there. Wait, are you saying you're old?"

Gilbert decided to change the subject. "So, a cute, willful customer barged into the kitchen today morning and you fell in love with him… Hold on, why does this sound familiar?"

"-Which is what _I've_ been trying to say," Francis interjected indignantly. "It sounds like the customer whom I-"

"Groped the buns of?" Gilbert smirked.

"-whom I attended to." Francis ignored Gilbert haughtily. He pursed his lips in a sexy manner. "This is a rather difficult case," he mused. "If Antonio was a waiter, he could interact with his love easily because he serves the customers, but since Antonio is in the kitchens most of the time, there is practically no chance for interaction at all…"

"Wait, you groped him?" Antonio asked.

"Well yes, it was just what we were talking about nearly the whole lunch," Gilbert said airily. "Of course he did, especially if the customer was as cute as you claim. Francis gropes anything if they stay still long enough." Francis raised a perfectly refined, politely incredulous and stylishly plucked brow and did not deign to comment.

Antonio looked as if he was stuck between wanting to tell Francis off or cooing. He cooed. "He's so cute, isn't he?"

Francis dropped his train of thought and nodded eagerly. "Yes, he is! You have wonderful taste, my friend," he praised. "Why, that incredible fashion sense could stop a traffic junction! And that pout could set sail a thousand ships!"

"That's the wrong country reference," Antonio said. "But I agree; he's so cuuuute." His smile developed a sharp edge and steel entered his voice. "Still, keep your hands off him, alright?"

Francis and Gilbert eyed him warily and drew their chairs away from Antonio as discretely as they could. In Gilbert's case, with a screech and a noisy clatter, as he wasn't very discrete at all. "Sorry," Francis ventured apologetically. "But how could I know that you would like him? There were no ill intentions, I assure you."

Antonio's sunny smile returned promptly. "Naturally," he beamed at Francis. "How can I be angry at you? It was even before I met him. Don't worry about it please; _it was just a warning_."

The two shuddered and once again remembered why it was bad to shake Antonio out of his dopey side and into badass territory.

Francis tried to recover his momentum. "… There is some element of romance in cooking for your loved one. Maybe you can do things like slip a love letter in the meal?" He suggested.

Gilbert snorted. "That's unhygienic. And freaky."

"What if he chokes on it?" Antonio worried.

"I heard in the Asian café across the street, they squirt messages on the meal using tomato sauce," Francis was undeterred. "You're a dessert chef, so you can probably do something with the icing."

"Cheesy and unoriginal," Gilbert critiqued.

"But icing melts easily in the heat," Antonio said despairingly. "I don't want it to imply that my interest in him is shallow and will fade quickly!"

"Oh!" Francis immediately sympathized. "No, no, that'd be dreadful."

"I don't get why it's not shallow," Gilbert said frankly. "And honestly, I have no idea why you're going through so much trouble to chase after him. From all I heard about him, it sounds like the only good point you've noticed about him is his cuteness. And it's not like you had a lot of time to sit down and get to know each other and some pansy shit like that. As a matter of fact, he was bitching at you for tomatoes. Are you masochistic or something?"

There was a stiff, cumbersome silence. Francis looked concerned, but didn't disagree with Gilbert, who was starting to look a little sorry, but he didn't take back his harsh words.

Antonio bit his lip, then said slowly. "That's why I said that I wasn't in love with him. But," he added quickly, seeing Francis's downfallen expression," Maybe I could be. You're right; I don't know enough about him to be able to tell myself confidently 'Yes, this is the one and only for me.' But I won't know unless I try, and I do like him very much. I like his frown, I like the way he talks, I like how intense he is when he wants something, and how hard he tries to get it, even if I think the way he went about it is rude, I like how shy his kindness is. I even like that absurd curl springing from his head, because it's so like him in a way that I just can't put into words. I like him. That's something that I don't want to give up if I have a choice, and I think I can love if I know him more. No, I'm sure I will."

He paused, then laughed sheepishly. "Sorry, I don't understand what I just said either. I opened my mouth and everything spilled out in a jumble like that. But that's the truth."

Francis was smiling. "Well if you believe in that, your feelings will surely get through." His eyes grew misty. "_L'amour_ will always prevail!"

Gilbert was trying to recall what struck him as familiar about Antonio's sappy speech. "Did you say something about a weird curl of hair?"

"Yes!" Antonio chimed enthusiastically. "It curls out from his forehead just so in the most peculiar way!"

Francis nodded. "It's quite noticeable; it sticks out from his hair. I tried patting it down and he shrieked at me and tried to upturn his drink on me."

"Wait, that- that can't be Feliciano, not even when he's PMSing. Not to mention he's too airheaded to cheat on my brother anyway," muttered Gilbert, getting up and pacing to jiggle his brain into working and because it was dramatic and awesome. "Ah! That must be Lovino, Feliciano's older brother!" He exclaimed triumphantly, to Antonio's and Francis's confusion. "You know, Feliciano is West's boytoy. I heard that the older brother flew here from Italy just a few days ago and is quite the grumpy character. Apparently he hates West and threatens daily to defenestrate him."

Francis was starting to get excited. "Well, isn't that great," he purred. "So with Gilbert's connections, we can easily arrange a meeting for you-"

"Don't be so desperate," snapped Gilbert. "No, the awesome part is that Feliciano likes to order delivery from the café. And in addition, he frequents the café and sometimes also drags company with him…"

Francis caught on. "So you can meet again and carry out all the romance properly! How ingenious!"

"The awesome me came up with that," Gilbert bragged.

"_Non_, _non_," Francis contradicted. His random sprinkling of French words also tended to make an appearance when it was the most obnoxious. "Romance was thought of by me."

Antonio still looked doubtful. "I'd rather just get his address and-"

"You can't be so stalkery! It turns people off," Francis said, ignoring Gilbert's _And you should know?_ smoothly. "You have to take it slow, like: Fancy meeting you here~ Yes, this is so unexpected! Ah, _l'amour_," he sighed languorously.

"Of course I'd be there, unless it's an off-day, or the café is closed. And I kinda don't want to go back to the café on my free days; it reminds me of work." Antonio looked perplexed.

Francis looked exasperated. "It's the spirit of _l'amour_." He refused to use the English word for it. So plain, with no flair, no oomph!

Gilbert took over. "Look at it this way. If you stick to the café, it'll be less freaky – I can't believe I'm agreeing with Francis – and it'll be on your grounds. Your territory. You can influence things, set things up to go your way, _trap him into submission_. We can even back you up here! If you go to him, you risk everything. Anything could go wrong and you'd be at his mercy." He fixed Antonio with an ominous look.

Antonio quivered accordingly and sighed tremulously. Gilbert took it as a sign of victory.

"It's alright, Antonio," Francis chirped, shrugging an arm around Antonio's shoulders. He made do somewhat sadly with a farewell grope to that delicious perky ass now that Antonio was soon to be out of the market. "At least you're one step in the door! If he orders delivery, he'll be calling here after all. And in essence, calling _you._" He winked again, with smug relish.

Antonio looked from Gilbert to Francis. He knew better than to put all his faith in them really; plans by them, no matter how sound they seemed as first, had the terrible tendency to go wrong spectacularly. But he had never been good with listening to his mind – he was the type of person to act by his heart. And right now, his heart was slowly lightening from the heavy sunken feeling that plagued it when he started to absentmindedly make plans to happily cry to his cute man about the compliments he received about his new and improved tiramisu recipe, before realising that it was never to be, only now that it _could _be and there was all sorts of future possibilities that opened up wide in front of him that Antonio could dream about in the lazy half-awake moments before he sank into his siestas.

So he let himself hope.

* * *

**AN:** Ah, and I plunge into a new fandom. [/embarrassed] I'm sorry for shoddy quality, I'm trying to get over writer's block here and they just refused to stop talking. Spain, why are you so OOC.

I've never worked in the kitchen of a food establishment before, so the a lot of it is guesswork and based on the experiences of friends who worked part-time in these places... Please correct me if you see something jarringly wrong!

Also, I think I botched French there. [/laughs] I welcome corrections too.

Thank you very much! :D


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